


it fires the heart and sets the pace

by bluebismuth



Series: TMA Fic (NSFW) [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Canon Asexual Character, Cock Rings, Collars, Degradation, Degrading Praise, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Dominance, Edging, Face-Sitting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masochism, Overstimulation, Riding Crops, Strap-Ons, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebismuth/pseuds/bluebismuth
Summary: “Martin, I want you to hurt me.”“Oh, Jon, I—wait, what?!” Martin scoots away from the island in shock. “Jon, you...you haven’t done anything to deserve that.”Jon doesn’t know if he believes that. “Even if that’s the case...I-I still want you to."
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: TMA Fic (NSFW) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666207
Comments: 6
Kudos: 144





	it fires the heart and sets the pace

**Author's Note:**

> just a heads up: as stated in the tags, martin is trans and i use clit/pussy to refer to his genitals in this fic so if that rubs you the wrong way then this might not be the fic for you

Jon wants to _hurt._

He has been hurt, there's no doubt about that. The scars prove that. He just feels like he hasn't hurt _enough._ No consequence too great for his perceived actions, what he's done to keep the people he cares about safe. Sometimes, he feels, he wants to be beaten so severely that his pain is endless, drawn out long enough that he doesn't "die"—he's not exactly sure if he _can_ die at this point, but if it prolongs his suffering, then it's good for one thing.

Martin wants to hurt, but in a different way.

He likes playing the innocent, bumbling assistant who doesn't know what's going on. It makes it all the more satisfying to see the look on people's faces when he finally snaps at them for being so insufferable. But he will admit, seeing the same people mock and underestimate him as if he isn't even there gets tiring. Sometimes, he wants to tear those people apart with his bare hands until they are nothing but blood and viscera—he's surprised the Slaughter never tried to touch him.

Neither of them have communicated these desires to each other. At least, not yet.

They're both sitting at the kitchen island, Jon's legs swinging back and forth as he eats the spicy curry and rice Martin made for dinner. It gives him a bit of a kick, which means Martin’s face is flushed and his nose is leaking. The house is silent, but it feels nice to wind down in the evenings.

Something about it makes Jon braver than he normally is. “Martin, I want you to hurt me.”

“Oh, Jon, I—wait, _what?!”_ Martin scoots away from the island in shock. “Jon, you...you haven’t done anything to deserve that.”

Jon doesn’t know if he believes that. “Even if that’s the case...I-I still want you to.”

Martin thinks about it for a moment. He hasn’t really had a proper outlet for his anger, but then again, those flare-ups were rare—he wasn’t being bothered by Peter or Elias anymore, and Jon and the rest of the Archives team weren’t either. Still, he was angry about what had been done to them in the past. Upset that he could only do so much…

“I...I can try.” He scoots back into place, reaching out a hand to cup Jon’s cheek. “But you _have_ to tell me if things become too much. Okay?”

Jon nods. All he needed was for someone to hurt him, and he trusted Martin with that.

— — —

It was almost scary how quickly Martin could turn from sweet to intimidating and dominating. That by no means meant Jon hated it.

When they finish dinner, Martin’s voice gets low as he tells Jon to undress while he puts the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. It sent a thrill up Jon’s spine—even when he needed gratification, Martin was always so sweet about it, checking in and asking before he even started. 

There’s no question about what he wants this time, so Jon obeys. He goes to their bedroom and starts undressing, not even bothering to put them in the laundry hamper before laying down on the bed. He wasn’t hard yet, but the idea of Martin _finally_ hurting him pooled deep in his stomach, warm and sharp.

He stiffens when the door opens, and he can hear Martin’s footsteps as he walks over. “Good toy,” Jon hears him whisper, as a hand brushes against his cheek. “Be patient and let me get some things.”

Jon can only watch as Martin walks over to one of the dressers and pulls a drawer out. Their sex, when it did happen, was only sometimes vanilla. That being said, they were far from the kinkiest people. They did have their fair share of toys though, both from when they were living separately and after moving into the safehouse. He sucks in a breath when Martin pulls out his harness, attaching the biggest dildo they have—a deep purple one with the deadly combination of long and thick, not to mention the _ridges_ —to it. He hasn’t taken Martin’s strap very often, but he’s far from opposed to it.

Something else that excites him is seeing the riding crop Martin pulls out next. It’s sharp and gives just the right amount of pain. Jon’s used it on Martin once or twice when they were still experimenting, but he can’t remember if the reverse ever happened.

The ropes are next, and Jon sucks in a breath. He remembers the feeling of them tightening around his skin, leaving faint red marks on his wrists and ankles. He wants his skin to be rubbed raw, for the ropes to bite through him, constrict him, trap him. 

He watches as Martin stands at the dresser, drumming his fingers on the surface as he looks at the toys laid out in front of him. He must be contemplating if he wants anything else for Jon—he doesn’t want to compel him, so he can only guess.

“Ah,” Martin finally says, pulling out a bottle of lube. He then turns to Jon, his eyes still soft. “You’re sure?”

 _“Yes,_ Martin.” He sits up. “I want this, I...I _need_ this. Please.”

Martin sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, there’s a new darkness to them, and it makes Jon shiver. He grabs a section of rope before walking over to the bed. “You dragged us all into such a mess, didn’t you?”

Jon opens his mouth to respond, but Martin slaps his cheek. It stings, but there’s no deeper hurt to it. Maybe it’s because he’s hurting him because he wants to help him? Jon doesn’t really know. It doesn’t matter.

“Do you know how many of our friends are dead because of you? How much trauma you caused all of us? I was trapped in the Lonely for _so long,_ and you think you can just get off scot free like that?”

“N-no…”

“Good. At least you know your place.” Martin huffs. “Maybe with this you’ll feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve given others.” He grabs the rope and starts tying Jon’s wrists together. It’s rough and coarse, and exactly what he needs. Martin ties it a bit too tight—not enough to cut off the circulation, but enough to leave marks. Marks mean pain. Pain that he needs, _deserves._ “Turn around.”

Jon knows he shouldn’t fight back if he wants to be better, so he obeys. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Martin walk away from the bed to grab the riding crop. _Good._ He needs to hurt. 

There’s a smacking sound, and Jon flinches before he realizes Martin didn’t hit him. Instead, he smacked the crop into his own palm. He chuckles. “Oh, you won’t like it when I actually hit you, little toy.” Jon feels small, insignificant as Martin presses the crop onto one of his ass cheeks as a warning. His hands curl into fists as he feels Martin lift the crop up and back down on him, the smack against his skin satisfying and blooming into pain as he cries out, his legs kicking out on the mattress.

“You’ll be so red once I’m done with you,” Martin promises, the crop coming down on his other cheek, and Jon whimpers. The pain will still be there, but he knows it’ll get easier. He doesn’t know if he _should_ want it to be easier, but he can’t control that part.

At some point, Martin uses his free hand to grip Jon’s ankles together, to keep him from kicking. Jon doesn’t really know why he hasn’t tied them together like his wrists, but he knows better than to question him right now. Martin knows what he’s doing. He has to trust him that much.

It feels like an eternity has passed when Martin takes the crop away, putting a hand on his ass. “I was right,” he says, his voice low. “You’re _very_ red. Even for a pathetic little toy, you’re beautiful.” Jon whines, but Martin ignores it. “Maybe if you’re good enough, you could even be my pet. Would you like that?”

Jon opens his mouth, but Martin smacks him again. “You’ll get to speak once you’re my pet. Toys don’t talk, now, do they?”

Jon sighs and shakes his head. “Now, would you like to be my pet?” Martin asks again. Jon nods, and Martin seems satisfied. “Good. I’ll give you your collar when you’re ready.”

He lets Martin turn him over on his back. “Spread your legs now,” Martin instructs. “I need to grab a couple more things.” Jon obeys, and watches as Martin heads back to the dresser.

Jon’s not really sure if he’s seen the next couple things Martin pulls out of the drawers. The first is a cock ring, presumably for him, but what really catches his eye is the collar that Martin wraps around his own arm. It’s a pale blue with white lace trim, and a white bow on the front. Under the bow is a little silver bell that jingles as Martin takes off his pants and boxers, replacing them with the strap-on he prepared beforehand. Finally, _finally,_ he comes back, the two sections of rope slung around his arm, cock ring and lube in hand.

“Maybe you should take my cock before I consider making you my pet, hm?” Jon nods. He knows Martin is going to be rough, but he needs it. He needs the punishment, needs the lack of release. He wants Martin to destroy him before he makes him his and builds him up again.

Martin grabs his cock and Jon bites his tongue to keep from crying out, forcing himself to watch as Martin slides the cock ring down, right to the base of his shaft. He squeezes Jon’s balls, and it takes all of what little power he has to keep from squirming. He has to stay still, obedient.

Jon’s legs are spread further, and he can feel his thighs stretching as Martin prepares to tie his ankles. He wraps one part of the rope around his left ankle, tying it as tight as the rope around his wrist, before tying the other end around the bedpost. He does the same for the right ankle, and soon the stretch fades—mostly because he doesn’t have to strain himself anymore. The ropes are doing that for him, and it hurts just the same.

He keeps watching as Martin turns back to pump some lube out of the bottle and slick up his strap with it, glistening in the dim light. Jon needs it so badly, but he needs to be patient. He resists the urge to fuck himself on Martin’s strap—if he could even do that with the ropes around him.

Martin must see the desperation on his face, because he grins predatorily. “I have to prep you first, little toy. Can’t have you hurting _too_ much on my cock, hm?” He pumps some more lube on his fingers, and he shoves two of them inside Jon. Jon moans loud and broken, wanting to move, but he _can’t._ Martin pumps hard and fast—even if he is prepping him, he isn’t giving him any mercy, quickly adding a third finger. His free hand rests on one of Jon’s thighs, discouraging him from even trying to clamp his legs together.

Jon whimpers as Martin pulls out, already missing the stretch. His cock is straining against the ring, wanting to dribble precum from the head, but he won’t even see a hint of it until Martin releases him. He has to earn it.

Those thoughts are immediately replaced by a loud cry as Martin shoves his strap inside Jon, and the _ridges_ on it are such a strange sensation, but it feels so good, so _right,_ to be like this. Just like with his fingers, Martin isn’t slow or gentle with him, slamming his cock in and out of Jon.

Now that his other hand is free, Martin places it on Jon’s shoulder and god, it has to be deliberate that it belongs to the same arm with the collar on it. Throughout all the panting and quiet moans, he can hear the bell jingle with each thrust, and he wants it around his neck more and more each time.

Jon feels like he’s going to burst—the cock ring is making him twitch at every little movement, and he swears he can see a vein. He’s so overstimulated like this, unable to move or even cum while Martin fucks him. He just has to lay there and take it, _take it_ so he can be good.

Being good hurts, but it’s so very worth it.

The moan that slips out of his mouth when Martin pulls out is borderline embarrassing, drawn out and whiny as he pants. “One more thing, little toy,” Martin says, as he takes off his strap. “You can’t exactly do much right now, isn’t that right?” Jon nods. He has an idea of where Martin’s going with this, but he doesn’t want to assume anything. “I think your mouth still has some use, though.”

If Jon wasn’t blushing before, he was now, as Martin rises and comes closer to him. “Eat me out and I’ll let you cum. Maybe I’ll even make you my pet,” he says, shaking the arm with the collar on. Jon whines, but he opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, eager to taste Martin.

“So obedient…” Martin muses as he hovers above Jon’s head before lowering himself onto his mouth. Jon wishes his wrists weren’t bound so he could clutch Martin’s thighs, hold them and pinch his hips while he sucks on his clit. Being good means being kind to his Master, even if he can’t call Martin that just yet.

It’s just as good as the other times he’s eaten Martin out, warm and soft and _beautiful._ Jon licks up the slick coating his pussy and he gets to hear Martin moan now, breathy and light. One of Martin’s hands finds the back of Jon’s head and he melts as Martin’s fingers weave through his hair, and the other grips the headboard tight.

When Jon looks up, he sees Martin, bright and flushed, his sun lighting the dark. When he moves to start sucking on his clit, Martin’s grip on his hair gets tighter, and Jon hums a moan that makes Martin shake. “S-so good for me, aren’t you?” Jon simply presses his tongue against the tip of his clit, and Martin muffles a moan behind closed lips.

“Fuck…” He uses the hand on the back of Jon’s head to shove him even closer as Martin comes, slick leaking out of him that Jon eagerly laps up. He pants and shakes as he rides out his orgasm on Jon’s mouth, wanting to get whatever pleasure he can out of his toy.

Martin’s thighs shake as he lifts himself off of Jon, and he strokes his scarred cheek, looking into his glazed eyes. “God, little toy, you’re so good for me...I think you deserve a reward for being good, yeah?”

Jon nods. He’s still a toy; he can’t speak yet. His cock has still been hard this whole time, but it’s been hard to focus on that when he had _Martin_ above him, the subject that clearly needed more attention at the time. Martin moves back between Jon’s legs and removes the cock ring, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off Jon’s shoulders.

The relief doesn’t last long though, because as soon as Martin’s pumped lube on his hand, he’s stroking Jon _perfectly_ —not too slow or fast, just the right combination of tender and rough, and it makes Jon want to thrust into Martin’s slick hand.

He won’t try his luck that much, though. Even if it’s a reward.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take very long for Jon to orgasm, cumming all over Martin’s hand and his own abdomen. His moan is shaky and drawn out, his hands balled into fists and his toes curling. Once Martin takes his hand off, Jon is panting, coming down from an intense and long high.

“We’ll clean ourselves up first, and then I can give you your collar. How does that sound?” The edge is gone from Martin’s voice, and as much as Jon loves it when Martin slips into his more dominant side, he loves the Martin he has outside of sex just as much. Jon nods, although it’s more because it’s hard for him to form words at the moment. Martin reaches over and kisses his forehead before getting off the bed. 

He returns after a few moments, his hand cleaned and a damp, warm washcloth being held by it. Martin cleans off the slick on Jon’s face first before moving to his abdomen and cock—Jon guesses that if Martin lingered there, he would’ve gotten hard again. Even if he was completely fucked out, he was still sensitive.

The ropes are next, Martin carefully untying Jon and frowning at the red marks they’ve left. “Maybe I should go easier on you next time?”

Jon shakes his head. “I wanted to be hurt, Martin, it’s okay.”

Martin hums and presses a kiss to the newly unbound wrist he’s holding, and Jon feels like he could melt. Now that he’s no longer restrained, Martin takes the collar off of his arm, and Jon’s eyes widen. He’s been waiting for this for what feels like an eternity.

“Oh, it looks _lovely_ on you, dear,” Martin murmurs, clasping the collar around Jon’s neck. It’s snug, but it gives him room to breathe. He kisses just above where the collar is on him, and Jon knows he could die here and be happy. “Do you need anything else right now?”

Jon shakes his head. “Just you. And sleep.”

Martin laughs and sighs dreamily. “Okay, I can do that. Let me change into pajamas first, though.”

Jon lets him do so, putting on his boxers to keep himself occupied. He would usually sleep with some baggy, old shirt on too, but he wants to be close to Martin right now.

Once Martin is in his own pajamas—soft flannel pants and a shirt that’s big, even on him—he climbs into bed, grabbing Jon and pulling him close. 

Jon keeps the collar on him while he sleeps. He feels safe and secure here, with the collar around his neck and Martin’s arms around his waist.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this please check me out at blizzardeggs on tumblr! it's my nsfw tma account


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